Operation Top-Secret

[Glorb]

Here it is, my first FG&S story. It's rather obvious what genre it spoofs.

CHAPTER 1

   The guard yawned through his black balaclava, sat down on the steps, and pulled out his PSP, first fishing around in his pocket to find his copy of Wipeout Pure. The other guard, who happened to be wearing the exact same clothes, noticed this, and spoke up.
   "Hey, listen, Frank," he said, "I'm gonna go out and get some smokes. Don't get too wrapped up in that; you never know when some guy's gonna sneak up in a cardboard box, eh? Eh?" Frank looked up; obviously, he didn't get the joke.
   "Eh…yeah. Well, anyways, I'll just be a sec." The guard went up the steps, unlocked the door, and stepped out of the room.
   Frank shrugged and looked around the guards' lounge for any possible hiding places. The entrance door was right behind him, and pretty squeaky too, so there's no way anyone could sneak up on him through there. There was no one behind the bar, and probably no one hiding in the soda machine.
   Room cleared, thought Frank to himself, switching on his PSP.

   The other guard walked up to the cigarette machine and looked around at the choices. They were all pretty much the same, but with different descriptors like "smooth", "extra smooth", "double smooth", "double extra smooth", and "mocha". He picked one at random, stuck in a $20 bill, and picked up the carton that popped out a few seconds later.
   Or, at least, he would have picked up the carton, if not for the unseen person who had just then put the guard into a chokehold. He knew this would happen sooner or later; I mean, this happens to all guards at one point in their career, right? Regardless, he was taken totally by surprise, uttering nothing but a single, piercingly loud "Gaack!" The figure grumbled.
   "Shut up!" His voice was gravelly, like he was yelling, but really quiet.
   "Agh!" cried the guard. However, just then, a thought entered his mind. "Ugh...oh, cool! Is this one of those training exercises?" he blurted.
   "No." replied the figure.
   "Then, what is this?" inquired the guard.
   "Shh! Listen, I need to know the location of--"
   The guard gasped with excitement. "Dude! Are you, like, a ninja?"
   "What? No. Look, I won't kill you if you tell me where to find the--"
   "Aw, man, wait until Frank hears about this! This is just like that game!"
   The figure mumbled something in an audibly annoyed tone, and then choked the guard unconscious. Pulling out his wrist radio, he dialed a frequency: 133.7. After a second, a voice came out the other end.
   "Yeah? What is it, Jake?" said the voice.
   "Um, there was a guard here;" began Jake, "he refused to talk."
   "Oh...too bad. Well, keep looking for that disc. It's the key to stopping the launch."
   "Uh, yeah. You've already told me that. Like, six times." Jake stood up and looked towards the door that the guard had entered through. "Jeff, over and--"
   "Hey, wait!" Jake looked back at the radio. "What? What is it?"
   "I've got to tell you something about your suit," said the voice. Jake sighed inaudibly, knowing a long-winded technical speech was to follow. Mission Control guys always did that. "Fine...go ahead."

   "Well, basically, it's a standard-issue skin-tight sneaky-suit, with a few additions from Research & Development." He chuckled, as if this was some sort of clever comment. "Inside the rubber material are millions of microscopic nanobots, which send a signal directly into your cerebellum, which is some part of your brain, or spine, I think. This allows you full control over all your limbs, using just your mind."
Jake paused. "So, what you're saying is, it lets me move my body…using my mind?"
   The voice hesitated. "Yes."
   "But...don't I already do that?" asked Jake.
   "Well, yeah, if you look at it that way." Explained the voice.
   There was a pause on the other end, followed by a throat-clearing sound.
   "Um, well, Jeff, we should maintain radio silence. This is Control, over and out."

   Jake stood up. He was in his mid-forties, with a stubbly, unshaven face, alert eyes, and muscular build. He was wearing the aforementioned rubber sneaking suit, as well as a number of harnesses and holsters, which, to his knowledge, did nothing. He was equipped with a silenced Beretta M92F with a whole ton of stuff attached: a laser sight, for precision aiming, a little doohickey that screws up lights and electronics, something that had something to do with nanomachines, and a top-mounted aiming sight. Jake was hesitant to ask Control what any of it did, as it was likely to make him spout some gibber-talk about the inner workings of the gun, which he probably read from some Tom Clancy book.
   With his alert eyes, Jake looked around the hallway. At the west end was the door to the guards' lounge, which was likely heavily guarded. Jeff entered through a conveniently placed crawlspace in the south end of the floor, and the door to the east lead to some locker room or whatever. No place to hide the guard...or, at least, that's what a lesser spy would think. Exercising his mental muscles, Jake thought where to stash the body, and came up with an idea.

[Glorb]

CHAPTER 2

   It took some time, but Jake managed to stuff the guard's body into the cigarette machine. How this was achieved is unimportant to the story, but suffice to say, it involved lots of cussing and shoving. After that task had been accomplished, Jake made his way silently to the door, reached into a holster, and slid a small cable under the door. It was a specially-designed fiber-optic video camera with a live video feed to Jake's wrist-mounted computer, which allows one to see under an obstruction, such as a door, or a...well, mostly doors. Jake could see a guard sitting at the base of some stairs, talking on a radio; on the floor next to him was a PSP. I wish I had a PSP, thought Jake to himself. But this was no time for wishing for game systems. With his salary, Jake could easily buy half a PSP, or maybe a used Game Boy Color from eBay. Quickly shaking the thoughts from his head, Jake listened to the conversation; it would likely provide such information as radio frequencies and whatnot.
   "Yeah, I know! Why should he say what the alert frequency should and shouldn't be used for? Over. Yeah. Uh-uh. Mmm-hmm. Huh? What song, over? From Kill Bill? Oh, you mean that one that goes like, 'dun dun dun dun dun dun dun, dun dunduhduhduh, dun dun dun dun dundun, DAH-DAH-DAH!!', over? Uh huh. I don't know what it's called. Over. What? Oh, okay. Over and out." Frank pressed a button and turned off the radio, then sat down. Or, at least, he would have sat down, due to the fact that he felt that something wasn't right, causing him to hesitate and kind of bounce his butt on the step. Turning around, Frank noticed that the door to the lounge was unlocked.
   Now, during the space of two seconds, one can experience a whole bunch of emotions, one after the other, in rapid succession, like that part at the end of a movie trailer when the music gets all dramatic and scenes start flashing and then it stops and shows the movie's title. Frank first experienced a sinking feeling of dread, like when you realize you accidentally left your kidneys on the train just as it pulls away, followed by a sort of adrenaline rush, like when you're about to get punched in the face and everything goes into slow-motion for a split second, followed by excitement, because anyone who could pick a lock and sneak through without him noticing must be, like, a ninja.
   Unholstering his AKS-74U from his back, Frank thought back to training, and remembered the golden rule of being a guard: always kick down doors.
   With a mighty banging noise, Frank kicked down the door, splintering it into several chunks near the handle. To assist in his image of professionalism, Frank waved his gun around, pulled out his radio, and started screaming into it.
   "HQ, this is Frank! Intruder detected in the guard's lounge! Send backup imm--"
   Frank scarcely had time to finish, as he was quickly karate chopped in the back of the neck by a shadowy figure in a rubber suit, knocking him unconscious. Jake pulled out his wrist radio and called Control. "Control," began Jake, just in case he had accidentally dialed the pizza place, which was on his radio's speed dial, "They're sending backup! What do I do? I've only got this tiny handgun!" There was a long pause.
   "Control?"
   "Uhhh...I don't...think we serve that topping anymore," said a scratchy, cracking voice on the other end, "Would you like to try our new Chicago super-deep-dish cheese crust pizza?"
   "Control, what...no! They're here!"
   A team of attack guards rushed in and, before Jake could even pull out his gun, he was smacked over the head with the butt of an AK. Everything went dark.

[skater-girl]

Wow, Glorb! I didn't know that you were a writer! Your good!!!!1!!!!11

[Ultima Shadow]

Heh, this is quite good. I like how you've managed to maintain an ominous atmosphere yet also keep the story humorous. I'm looking forward to the next chapter. :]

[Glorb]

Wow, thanks. I should have the next chapter ready in a bit.

[SolidShroom]

:D
'bout friggin' time we had another MGS fan, especially after PaperLuigi left. Also, dude your sig was once my CT. Also, I used the whole thing for my sig because I am that awesome. But yeah keep up the good work dude.

[Glorb]

Yeah...I wish he never left. Oh, well.

CHAPTER 3

   Jake woke up. Looking around with his dazed, blurry vision, it appeared he was in a large, blank room, like the kind you see in movies whenever there’s a large, blank room, furnished only with a huge, low table, like in interrogation scenes. As he attempted to get up from the chair he was slumped in, Jake noticed he was tied to it. Jake put the pieces together: blurry vision, large, blank room, and tied to a chair. Yep, it appeared Jake had been captured.
   There were footsteps approaching. Jake quickly considered his options: He could try and cut the ropes against the edge of the table, or maybe...well, that was really the only option that came to mind. Of course, that would take hours, and the footsteps sounded like they would arrive right about...now. An old-looking man entered the room, accompanied by a guard in a green uniform.
   “How are you gentlemen!” said the older man in a Russian accent. Jake was rather puzzled by the odd greeting. “All your base,” the man began, “are belong to us.” He chuckled evilly. “You are on the way to destruction! You have no chance to survive. Make your time.” The guard whispered something in the man’s ear, who had a surprised look on his face. The guard stepped forward and leaned forward on the table.
   “What he means to say is, you have been captured. In twenty-four hours, we will launch the hijacked nuclear missile from the base in Nevada, which will impact on New York and wipe out the stock market. That is, unless you can stop us. Which you can’t. So don’t even bother.” The guard escorted the man out of the room and closed the door.
   Jake waited, contemplating his fate. Would they come in later and shoot him, or simply wait for him to starve to death. Maybe they’d make him watch propaganda and turn him into a KGB super-soldier guy. As Jake thought about this, he noticed a banging noise overhead. It sounded like someone was in a crawlspace.
   And indeed there was. The vent overhead fell down, and Jake saw a woman jump down. “Are you Jake Spencer?” asked the woman. Jake stayed calm. “Yeah. You here to rescue me?” The woman pulled out a knife and began to cut the ropes that bound him to the chair. “Yes, I am. You have information that the government needs. Now,” she said, slicing the last of the ropes, “let’s go.” Jake stood up and felt his wrists; a little sore, but okay.
   The woman sheathed her knife and opened the door, first handing Jake his gun, which was on the floor. “Here,” she said, “You might need this.” Jake took the gun, checked it, and put it back in his holster. Jake had two important thoughts on his mind: 1) Who was this woman? And 2) How much did he owe that pizza place?

[Glorb]

CHAPTER 4

   Jake and the woman continued stalking down the dank metal corridor. After a long, awkward silence punctuated by the occasional guard encounter, the woman spoke up.
   “My name,” she began, “is Veronica Statopolous. I’m an agent for the A.F.C.C.F.B.A.D.T. I was sent because--" Suddenly, Jake’s radio rang. Jake pushed a button, and the familiar voice of Control began talking.
   “Listen, Jake. HQ has contacted me and told me that, for the time being, you will need a new Mission Control. I’ll patch him in now.” There was a short burst of static, and, before Jake could ask who it was, the frequency changed to 141.12.
   “Well, howdy! I been told y’all needs a new control! I’m glad to help!” the new voice said in a high, creaky voice.
   Jake laughed nervously and dialed Control.
   “Yes, Jake?” asked Control.
   “Just one question,” began Jake, “Who’s this guy? He seems...odd.”
   “Oh, that’s Stinky Pete, the janitor. Don’t be fooled by outward appearances; he’s helped over sixteen agents in various scenarios, from the Gulf War to E3.”
   Jake grumbled. “Well, if he’s reliable, I guess I can deal with it.”
   “It’s okay,” said Control, “I’ll check in periodically to see how you’re doing. Ciao.”
Ciao? That’s weird, thought Jake. But before he could think why it was weird, Jake’s radio rang.
   “Hey, Jakey!” yelled Pete, “I’m jess checkin’ up on ya. I’ll give ya advice every now’n then! How’s about that!” Jake pressed the button to talk, and sighed. “Um, great. Just don’t call too often, okay?”
   “Sure thing, Snake!” yelled Pete.
   “Um, it’s...it’s Jake. Not Snake.”
   “Okee-dokee, Frank!”
   “Look, there must be a bad connection. It’s Jake.”
   “Oh, I getcha, Raiden!”
   “What? Look, my name is Jake!”
   “Yeah, I know, Luigi! Well, I gotta go! Can’t hold you up forever!” The radio clicked off, and Jake slumped against a wall. Obviously, this was going to be a very long mission. Jake stood back up and continued down the hallway.
   A minute later, the radio rang again, and Pete’s voice erupted out the other end.
   “Hey, Jimbo! Glad to see you’re holdin’ up!”
   Jake dropped his voice to an irritated whisper. “Pete, listen. We need to maintain radio silence; uh, my radar’s, um, picking up enemy...guys. Er, robots. Killer robots.” Jake was a crappy liar, but he hoped the ruse would work just in case there were killer robots around the corner.
   “Well, that’s funny; I can’t see nothin’ on my radar...”
   “Then your radar must be broken. Oh, crap! They’re here! Gotta go!” Jake punched a button and turned off the radio.
   Three seconds later, the radio rang again.
   “Hey, Frank, that sure was rude of you! You can’t just cut me off like that! Now, let me start over from the very beginning. Glad to see you’re holdin’ up!” Pete’s voice was just as happy and screamy as ever.
   “Pete, listen. I NEED you to stop calling, just for a little while. Okay?”
   Pete started rubbing his chin, which was audible, since he had some Cheetoes crumbs stuck in his beard, which fell all over the headset. “Well, okay. I guess that’ll work out. Buh-bye!” Jake groaned and flicked off the radio. There has to be some way to block his frequency, or something... thought Jake.
   Four seconds later, the radio rang.